


The Divine's Directive

by janesgravity (janescott)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, What-If, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janesgravity
Summary: This is an idea I had - what if the Conclave was successful, and Solas didn't wake up until after it was over? What would that Inquisition look like? It's a work in progress right now, so let's see where it goes.





	The Divine's Directive

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my llama etharei for the beta. :)

Codex entry 1

9:41 Dragon - Conclave

The Conclave - which had been called a year ago by Divine Justinia, and held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes above the village of Haven, was considered an overall success but, in truth, bore mixed results.

Conflict had been brewing for some time between mages of the Circle and the Templars tasked with their care. 

It’s a simplification, perhaps, but the mages wished for their freedom from the Templars’ scrutiny, whereas the Templars believed that more observation was needed.

Of course, not all Templars felt this way, just as not all mages believed they needed to be outside of the Circle of Magi. However, with conflict brewing for so long with no action taken, it was perhaps inevitable that things would come to a head.

No one expected, of course, that the “head” would be the destruction of Kirkwall’s Chantry at the hands of an apostate - an apostate who is also rumoured to be an abomination. The destruction of the Chantry also took the life of Grand Cleric Elthina, and many other innocents who were praying in the Chantry at the time.

Whatever popular opinion may be regarding Anders’ actions in Kirkwall, it did bring into sharp relief the necessity for the discussion of perhaps reforming the Circles of Magi into something more welcoming for Thedas’s mages.

This, of course, would require a massive groundshift in the attitude of much of Thedas’s population to mages. At present, most Theodosians regard mages with deep suspicion. Do we work to keep mages out of the public eye? And does that serve their safety, given the accusations many mages who spoke at the Conclave - including the leader of the rebel mages Grand Enchanter Fiona - levelled against the Templar order.

They spoke of terrible abuses by some of the order, and of the desire to live normal lives.

The Templars also spoke eloquently, particularly one Ser Barris, and former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, Cullen Rutherford. 

The Divine, to her credit, gave everyone equal opportunity to air their views and grievances, and - in service to the idea of moving forward - she declared the Inquisition of old reborn. 

There has been no Inquisition in Thedas for 800 years, and it is understood that the Templar order was formed out of the original one, founded by Emperor Drakon, and Inquisitor Ameridan, about whom little information remains.

However, the Divine believes the Inquisition is the best option for bringing peace to Ferelden, and calming the claims of both mages and Templars. Some, of course, see the Inquisition as little more than a military arm of the Chantry, a view not aided by the appointment of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast - and the Divine’s Right Hand - as Inquisitor.

It has been argued that a neutral party should have been named Inquisitor, although Seeker Pentaghast has so far guided the fledgling organisation with a steady hand and a pragmatic attitude.

Whether that is enough, remains to be seen.

Excerpt from Considering the Inquisition by Professor Jade Le Breton of the University of Orlais

 

 

“Are you sure about this? All those shems …”

Gethriel stops at the top of the rise and looks down on what amounts to a city of tents. He can smell the smoke from cooking fires even from up here, and there’s a low rumble of hundreds of voices having hundreds of conversations. He smiles when he feels Soren slip his hand into his own.

“No, I’m not sure, but this is what the Keeper has asked me to do. Go to the shem Conclave. Observe, and report back. So. That is what we are going to do.”

Soren tucks himself closer to Gethriel’s side and lets out a small puff of air. 

“Well. Nothing for it, I suppose. Let’s go and see if we can find a spot to set up our own tent - and figure out what’s next.”

They descend the hill slowly, and Soren points out a spare patch of grass near a loud group. Gethriel studies the group for a moment, before nodding and heading in their direction. The group falls silent one by one, watching the pair as they approach.

It’s a diverse group - there’s a Qunari woman at the centre of it, a couple of dwarves, a human and a pair of what appears to be city elves.

The Qunari woman speaks first, looking Gethriel and Soren up and down. 

“Well met, friends. Here for the Conclave?”

Gethriel nods, very aware, suddenly, of the staff hooked over his back. He sees, however, that the Qunari woman has one within reach and he feels a little bit better. Not much, under so much scrutiny, but a little.

“Yes. I - we were wondering whether we could set up our tent here? There doesn’t seem to be much room elsewhere…”

“Aye, because most of the bastards here know to avoid getting close!”

The Qunari just rolls her eyes and shoves at the dwarf who had spoken. “Shut it, Rehan. Us non-human types have to stick together, right?” She ignores the “hey!” from the human and grins at Gethriel. “Set up your tent, friend. You’re welcome to share our fire, if you have need.”

Gethriel tips his head slightly. “Thank you …”

“Saya. Saya Adaar. This mouthy dwarf here is Rehan Cadash, and this is Natak Cadash. That’s Riva and Valyll Tabris, and this is - what’s your name again kid?”

The human - a boy of about 19 as far as Gethriel can tell - looks up and glares at Saya. “Don’t make me say it. C’mon Saya … “

Saya grins again and turns back to Gethrierl and Soren. “His name’s Winterthorne.”

“Just. Call me Winter.”

Gethriel blinks, and blinks again. “Uh. Well. I’m Gethriel Lavellan. And this is my husband, Soren.”

Saya tilts her head and says, “Sit. You’re hurting my neck having to look up. Got anything to share the fire?”

Soren drops to the grass, all unconscious grace and ease. He drops his pack and sighs in relief, before rummaging through it. “Not much - some dried - uh, ram? Strips. Might be all right …”

He digs them out and hands them to Saya, who drops them into the pot bubbling away at the centre of the small circle.

Gethriel sits down slower, more cautious always. He rummages through his own pack and finds some flat travel bread, about half a loaf. He hands it to Saya and says, “throw that in as well. It’s as hard as bloody rock, but it should soften all right in the pot.”

Saya nods, and throws it in, breaking it into small pieces first.

“So - you’re Dalish, right? Wouldn’t have thought you’d come to something like this.”

Gethriel stares into the fire, the flickering light mesmerising. Whatever’s in the pot smells good, and Creators, he’s _tired_. He sighs and stretches before answering Saya’s question.

“Yes. Our clan is … well. It’s north of here - well north of here.”

“Feels like we’ve been travelling for months,” Soren adds. “But our Keeper thought this Conclave was important enough to send someone and … and here we are.” His last words catch on a long yawn, and Saya laughs softly.

“My mercenary band - most of whom aren’t here because for some reason lots of Qunari in the same place make people nervous - heard rumours of it and thought it was worth investigating. At worst, we might pick up some jobs.”

“And at best?” Gethriel asked. “You’re a mage, like me. An apostate, according to Chantry law.”

“Mages outside the fucking Circle. How _shocking_.” Saya sighs. “At best … How do the Dalish view magic? I don’t really know much about your people.”

Gethriel opens his mouth to reply, but it’s Soren who answers. “We revere it. At least - our clan does. Our Keeper is always a mage. It’s … hard though, I think.”

“I heard you abandoned kids to the woods if there were more than three mages in a clan.”

This comes from one of the city elves, and Gethriel can’t quite remember her name. He shakes his head. “I can’t speak for other clans, but that’s not how we - it is dangerous to have more than three mage children in a clan - too much chance of drawing the wrong attention -”

“Fucking templars,” Saya mutters and Gethriel smiles. “Yes - that. But we would not abandon a child. If we do have … too many, what we do is - well, I suppose we trade. There are other clans where magic is either weak, or nearly extinct, and we have sent mage children - and their families - to those clans. But abandon a child … no. We - don’t practice that.”

The elf - Riva, Gethriel remembers now, nods and he feels obscurely like he’s passed some kind of test.

Saya starts doling out the stew then, and conversation drifts to less serious matters. 

Saya and her crew help Gethriel and Soren set up their tent, and it’s not long before Soren kisses Gethriel good night and crawls inside. Soon, it’s just Saya and Gethriel, staring into the fire as the vast camp settles for the night.

“If you think about it - the Circles falling, mages and templars running around everywhere - we’re all apostates now, Circle trained or not.”

Saya nods at that and then grunts softly. “Circle-trained. I don’t think they ‘train’ them in anything except how to say yes sir and no sir to templars.”

Gethriel makes a soft sound. He’s thought the same thing, as stories have filtered through his clan through their years of travelling. “It’s… a waste. Of the gift,” he says, not looking up from the fire. He’s only ever been this open with the Keeper and Soren before, and it feels strange, confiding in a virtual stranger, but, he supposes it is a brave new Thedas.

“Aye,” Saya says darkly, frowning at the fire. Her horns curl back on her head and she scratches at the base of one of them. The gathering dark and the flickering firelight give her skin a dark cast, and she looks to be made up almost entirely of shadows.

“Not to mention, the whole … mages are wrong and bad in the eye of the Maker. I don’t even believe in the Maker.”

“That’s so … strange to me. We’re raised to revere magic, to see it as a gift, not as a burden. But when we trade with shems - with humans - we have to be careful. Keep the mages back. The Keeper never meets with them. I’ve only met shems a handful of times before coming here. Soren has had more to do with them than me. All of this … I hope … well. It would be nice to be able to live without such extreme caution.”

Saya grunts softly in agreement. “It would. Though - I’d like to see them try to put me in a Circle.”

Gethriel hums in agreement. “Would they? Or - I don’t know much about Qunari …”

“I’m Tal-Vashoth actually. Outside of the Qun. My mother left when my magic manifested. D’you know what Qunari do to Saarebaas? To their mages?”

Gethriel shakes his head, and carefully feeds another stick into the dying cooking fire.

“They put massive collars on them, and they’re controlled by these .. control rods. Oh, and if that’s not enough? They cut out their tongues and stitch their lips together.”

“Creators. I can see why your mother left the Qun.”

“Some day, I’ll give you my whole sad life story. For now, I’m going to turn in. Addresses to the Divine begin tomorrow, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Good night, Saya. And - thank you.”

“Gotta stick together, right? See you tomorrow.”

Gethriel crawls into his tent, making as little noise as possible. Soren is curled up under a blanket, his red hair poking up in the gloom. Gethriel stows his staff, and stretches, before sliding under the blanket himself. Soren doesn’t wake up, but he shuffles closer to Gethriel anyway, throwing an arm across his chest.

Gethriel curls his arm around Soren’s back, and spends a lot of time staring up at the dark top of the tent, lost in thought.

 

Cassandra places the large book carefully on the table in front of her, and stares at the cover for a long time. A stylised eye, with sun rays coming from it, decorates the cover. It’s a heavy tome, full of history and wisdom. It looks like a thousand other history books in libraries all over Thedas, but this one … this one has the power to shake the world to its very foundations.

She doesn’t look up when she hears the door open and click closed.

“Are we doing the right thing? Is there no other way forward?”

Leliana comes forward and rests her hands on the table. “The Inquisition of old, reborn. This is the Divine’s directive, Cassandra. She believes that this will bring order to Thedas, and stop the mage-templar war before it tears Ferelden apart. We have to do whatever we can to support her vision.”

Cassandra looks up then at her friend and sighs. “Yes. I - know. And I do support the Divine, of course I do. It’s just - everything will be different after today - after the Conclave. Will it be for better or for worse?”

Leliana shrugs, a small movement that’s barely more than a twitch of her shoulders. “I cannot say. We both know that things cannot go on as they are, with rebel mages and templars tearing through the Hinterlands. Innocent people are caught in the crossfire of a war they do not understand, and it is our job to stem that tide. 

“Ten years ago, I helped the Hero of Ferelden stop a Blight. I did not go through all of that for Thedas to be torn apart again.”

Cassandra straightens up at that, her hand unconsciously going to the hilt of her sword hanging at her hip. “Yes. Of course. We have much to do.”

“We do,” Leliana agrees. “Josephine has finally arrived, and the first addresses to the Conclave are due to begin very soon.”

“Then let us go to the Temple. For good or ill, we are at the forefront of history. It would not do to be late.”

The main room of the Temple of Sacred Ashes is a large chamber, but it is full to overflowing. Saya stands near the back, aware of her height, and also the ingrained need to be close to an exit should things go south. Riva stands with her, although it’s unlikely she can see much over the milling crowd. The rest of Saya’s mercenary band are scattered throughout, and she can see Soren’s bright red hair from where she’s standing, which means Gethriel will be with him. 

She’d only met the two Dalish elves the day before, but she feels responsible for them somehow. 

“Could offer them a place, after this is all over,” Rehan says, and Saya supposes she should be surprised that Rehan knows what she’s thinking, but she’s really not.

“Thought about it. But we did only meet them yesterday.”

“Uh huh. And how long did you spend last night bonding with Gethriel over the fire?”

Saya shrugs. “A while. They - “

Whatever she was going to say next is cut short when a woman steps up to the hastily erected dais at the front of the room.

She’s dressed in the robes of a Chantry sister, but Saya knows she’s too young to be the Divine. She puts out her hands and waits until the crowded room falls silent.

“Welcome, all, to this Conclave. We are here to discuss the mage-templar conflict, and to hear from those affected on both sides of this unfortunate affair. First, Divine Justinia would like to say a few words, then she will hear from the representatives for the mages and for the templars.”

Gethriel watches as the Divine ascends the platform, but finds his mind wandering soon after. He knows he should pay attention, but listening to a shem priest talk about shem religion really isn’t at the top of his list of things he would like to be doing right now. 

He glances at Soren, and is amused to find his husband apparently riveted to everything the Divine is saying. Soren catches his eye and whispers “Well, one of us should pay attention.” Gethriel has to bite his lip to stop himself laughing out loud.

After the Divine’s address, a short recess is called, and Soren and Gethriel gravitate to Saya at the back of the large hall. Her mercenary band has gathered and they all head for one of the merchant stands in the alcove, set up to sell tea and food to the Conclave attendees.

“What do you think so far?” Saya asks Gethriel as they buy their food and make their way outside.

Soren snorts at that and says “Better ask me, he wasn’t listening.”

Saya grins and turns to Soren. “All right. What do you think so far?”

Soren shrugs and absently picks at the bread and cheese he’s just bought. “I don’t know yet. It’s a lot of ……. “ he pauses and looks around, seeing there’s no one else nearby. Giving Saya a wide berth he supposes. “A lot of …. Shem posturing. So far it’s all about the humans and the Chantry and it’s just - “ he sighs and looks over to where Gethriel is talking with Riva and Winter.

“It’s just. What if. What if they decide to rebuild the Circles? And hunt for apostates again? They would not hold back, and Gethriel could - “ Soren swallows and stares down at his food, tears blurring his eyes for a moment.

Saya makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. She doesn’t know what to say, really, but she doesn’t want to lie to Soren either. “I know one thing. What ifs don’t answer any questions. But if the humans decide the Circles are the way to go - despite all the evidence to the contrary - then know that you and Gethriel have a place with me and my group. I know we don’t know each other well, but I’m a big believer in instinct, and I know you’re good people. If - if that helps.”

She’s rewarded by a watery but genuine smile and Soren takes a deep breath.

“It. It does. I - thank you.”

 

“So far, so good,” Leliana says during the break. Cassandra is paging through the Directive again, but she nods in agreement. 

“There are far more people here than I had anticipated. I just hope that the outcome is what it should be.”

Leliana hums softly for a moment. “It will be a long process, which is why the Inquisition is necessary. It also means naming an Inquisitor.”

Cassandra sighs at that and finally lifts her head from the book. “Do you think I am the right person? Surely Josephine …”

Leliana tilts her head for a moment. “Yes, Josephine has a lot of the necessary qualities to make a good Inquisitor, but she will be needed at Haven, and we need an Inquisitor who can go out and be seen to be doing - which means that you are the logical choice, Cassandra.”

Cassandra sighs and places her hand on her sword hilt. “Then I will do my duty - to the Divine, and to the Chantry. This … will not be easy.”

“None of this is easy, Cassandra. First, we have to persuade the mages and the templars to stop fighting. Everything else will flow on from there. Have faith.”

 

The first of the addresses begins after the break, and the small elven woman who makes her way down to the dais causes a stir of chatter among the attendees. 

Gethriel and Soren are standing at the back now with Saya and Gethriel looks to Saya, his eyebrows up in a silent question.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Saya says softly. “She’s the leader of the rebel mages - the ones who broke away from the Circle and wanted to form their own College. Rumour is she used to be Grey Warden.”

Gethriel wants to ask what “used to be”, means but Fiona begins speaking then, her impassioned pleas echoing around the large chamber.

Gethriel pays close attention to what the woman is saying - as far as he can tell, the freedoms she is asking for are not outrageous. She wants mages to have the chance to study, but not to be cut off from the outside world; for magic to be viewed as a gift rather than a burden and for mages to be allowed to pursue their craft in peace without the looming threat of the templar order always looking over their shoulders - and worse.

“Treat mages like people and banish the idea of apostacy,” Saya murmurs. “What radical notions.”

Rehan - on Saya’s other side - grunts in agreement. Fiona speaks well, and shows almost no sign of nerves despite the large crowd watching, and the scrutiny of the Divine above her.

The Grand Enchanter is a small woman - even for an elf - but she has a commanding presence which is felt long after she stops speaking.

“I thank you for your words and your insights, Grand Enchanter Fiona. We will have another short recess, and then we will hear from First Enchanter Vivienne, of Montsimmard.”

Saya and her group stay put this time, not wanting to push back and forth into the room again.

“Fiona spoke well,” Rehan says. “But I’ll bet you ten silvers it won’t be enough.”

Saya scoffs and says, “Not taking a fool bet, Rehan.”

Gethriel frowns and glances at Soren, who offers a small smile and slips his hand into Gethriel’s own, winding their fingers together.

It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

 

Sister Nightingale

Enclosed is a report on the activity of a group of what appears to be Tevinter extremists. I am not sure - yet - what they are doing in Ferelden, but I will maintain my post. 

Charter

They call themselves “Venatori”. They are - for want of a better word - a cult of Tevinter extremists. They have mages and scouts, and so I have been able to glean very little without giving away my present position. 

However, what I can tell you is that they seem determined to bring back the glory days of Tevinter, and that an “Elder One” is going to somehow bring this about. I have not been able to determine who this “Elder One” is - I would presume it’s some powerful Tevinter mage, but I know how you feel about assumptions. 

I have tasked Scout Penrose with investigating the disappearance of the Ferelden Grey Wardens - a difficult one, as the Wardens are, by nature, secretive. She will report her findings to you in due course.

The Venatori are striking camp here in the Approach, and my intelligence leads me to believe they will head for the Hissing Wastes next. I will follow - at a safe distance, of course.

Charter.

 

Sister Nightingale

Nothing on the Wardens. And by nothing, I mean nothing. There is - as far as I can tell - not a single Warden in Ferelden at all. I thought I was on the trail of the Hero for a bit, but she slipped away as well. 

I could contact Weisshaupt, but I don’t know how long a message would take to travel there and back. I’ll remain in Amaranthine for the time being, and await further orders.

Penrose.

 

As far as Soren can tell, the Conclave is going to take forever, and nothing will be resolved. It does nothing to ease his worry for Gethriel, and whether he might be swept away into a shem Circle. He watches, and he listens, and he waits.

“They just keep going around and around in circles,” he says around the campfire that night. He and Gethriel have all but been absorbed into Saya’s group, and he’s honestly grateful for the extra protection that affords them. Soren has dealt with shem before, and mostly what he’s learned is not to trust anyone.

Saya grunts in agreement. “The Chantry doesn’t want to give up control of the mages, and nor do the Templars. The Templars think that will mean mages running around Thedas, turning into abominations every five minutes, and if the Chantry loosens its hold on the mages, then it has to loosen its hold on the Templars, and then … chaos.”

“It wouldn’t necessarily be chaotic though, would it?” Soren winces at how young he sounds. He’s only just turned 21 and almost everyone here is older than him - or that’s how it feels. 

“Well, there’s normal chaos, and then there’s what the Chantry considers to be chaos,” Rehan says, joining in the discussion for the first time. 

“Normal chaos is what we have now, I guess, but with fewer bandits and rogue groups of mages and templars roaming the countryside. Chantry chaos is one mage outside the Circle, picking Crystal Grace for a potion.”

Saya stirs the cooking fire with a stick, causing the flames to flare up briefly. “Trouble is - the question is - is the Chantry willing to compromise somehow? You saw them when Grand Enchanter Fiona was talking. And what does she want? The chance to train mages properly, and to give them the chance to see their families once in a while. You’d think she asked to be made the next Divine. I hate to say it, but it might be too much for the Chantry.”

Soren sighs and looks at Gethriel next to him. He’s frowning, the flames flickering across his face and creating shadows. Gethriel glances up, feeling Soren’s gaze on his face, and smiles. It’s small, but warm and real, and Soren feels a little more settled.

“But what’s the point of holding the Conclave if the Divine just says ‘nothing changes, everyone go home?’ The Chantry in Kirkwall was blown up - as I understand it - out of frustration at the Chantry’s inaction over the abuses that the mages at the Gallows suffered. Surely - there has to be change?” 

“You’d think so, kid. But - the Chantry’s been set in its ways about magic for centuries. Even drastic action like Kirkwall might not be enough.”

Soren swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “So - Gethriel might really - end up in a Circle? That’s not fair!”

Saya spoons stew into a wooden bowl and hands it to Soren, who holds it, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.

“No. If that even looks like it’s going to happen - and it won’t - you two come with us. Join my group. We’ll look out for you.”

“Not - go back to the clan?” Soren’s voice is soft, but he can hear the tremor in it. “I - I mean, thank you, Saya. I - “ Gethriel’s hand closes gently around Soren’s wrist, and Soren takes a deep breath. 

“We don’t have to decide anything yet, vhenan. But - we have to consider the possibility that we might not be able to go back home from here.”

Soren feels his throat closing and takes a deep breath before nodding silently. “I - I’m going to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Soren shakes his head and manages a light tone, though it costs him. “No - you stay out here and gossip like fishwives with Saya. Just - don’t stay up too late.”

Saya laughs softly and takes Soren’s bowl of stew back, digging into it herself. “We’ll put the world to rights, kid. Like always.”

Soren laughs softly and makes his way back to his and Gethriel’s tent.

 

Codex entry 2

9:41 Dragon - On the Conclave

The appointment of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast as Inquisitor was, of course, seen by some as a clear sign that the Chantry planned to do nothing but reform the Circles of Magi as they were, and not address years of alleged abuse by the Templar organisation.

Seeker Cassandra has a reputation as a woman who does not suffer foolishness easily, and soon let her actions speak louder than her words.

With little resolved but the formation of the Inquisition, Divine Justinia returned to Val Royeaux, trusting the fledgling organisation to do what was right in order to restore order in Ferelden. 

Perhaps as controversial as her appointment, Seeker Cassandra - now Inquisitor Pentaghast - chose to focus on the refugees in the Hinterlands who had been displaced by the warring mages and templars. She seemed to consider the mage-templar war secondary to the welfare of the people of Ferelden.

To this end, she drew together a group of capable advisors - advisors that included First Enchanter Madame Vivienne de Fer of the Montsimmard Circle, Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the mage rebellion, and Templar representative Ser Barris. 

The assumption is that the Inquisitor hoped some resolution could be reached by asking these three factions to work together.

Excerpt from Considering the Inquisition by Professor Jade Le Breton of the University of Orlais

 

“Have we done the right thing?” Cassandra studies the war table, tucked away in a back room of Haven’s Chantry. She studies the small maps and models, her left hand resting on a stack of parchment - letters of support, or of derision - and an ever-increasing pile asking for help.

“We have done what we had to do - what the Divine asked us to do. From now on, it is up to us,” Leliana says, studying the war table just as closely.

“What we need to decide now,” newly appointed Inquisition ambassador Josephine Montilyet says, “is what is most urgent. What do we need to deal with first?”

Cassandra sighs and looks up at her advisors - Leliana, steady and enigmatic as always, and Josephine, ready to work as hard as Cassandra herself.

“And you, Cullen. What do you think we need to focus on first?” 

The Inquisition’s new commander looks up from the table, frowning. “I would say we need to deal with the mages first - we have no idea how many abominations are out there, terrorising innocent people.”

“There are also rogue templars,” Leliana says, patiently. “You do not need to be some kind of Fade abomination to cause terror. Sometimes you just need a sword.”

“I know that, but - “

“Stop.” Cassandra’s tone brooks no argument. “I will not have us fracturing before we have even had the chance to do anything. I need a practical direction to move in, not more circular arguments.”

Leliana frowns in thought, then picks up a piece of parchment from the table. “Here - in the Hinterlands. A report from one of my scouts about a Chantry sister - Mother Giselle. She is administering to the refugees, but she is pinned down at the Crossroads near Redcliffe by the fighting. If we start anywhere at all, I think this would be a good place to go. We can rescue Mother Giselle, and start garnering some good will. 

“It’s perhaps not flashy, but it is something, yes?”

Cassandra considers the letter that Leliana has passed to her. Helping the refugees in the Hinterlands return to their homes, and perhaps bring in some of the rebel mages and templars if they can be reasoned with …

“Yes. I will go to see this Mother Giselle myself. I will leave in the morning.”

“Might I suggest, Inquisitor, that you don’t travel alone? I know you are capable and skilled, but I would feel much better if you had at least one other person travel with you. I would go myself, but my duties keep me here in Haven.”

Cassandra sighs and bites back the urge to argue with Cullen. “You are right, of course. I will take Ser Barris, and let’s see ...Varric, I suppose. And Madame de Fer, if she wishes to come.”

“I know you don’t like the idea much Cassandra, but I’m going to reach out to some of the mercenary groups in the area. If we can get them working for us, then we can at least boost our security a bit, rather than have them roaming the countryside and working against us.”

Cassandra sighs again. “You are right, Leliana. I do not like it, but I trust your judgement. Work with Cullen, and come up with a plan. I will go and speak to Varric and the others. We will leave for the Hinterlands first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Gethriel glances up from the makeshift table he’s using to write a letter to the clan’s Keeper, blinking in confusion for a moment. Soren is standing in front of him, biting his lip and frowning.

“About staying with the Inquisition? Well, with Saya’s group?”

“Yes. I mean, I know - I know they need help and all that but I thought we’d be heading home by now ..”

Soren’s tone is wistful and a little sad, and Gethriel feels a surge of sympathy. He had come to the Conclave with Gethriel, determined not to be left behind so soon after their bonding ceremony. And as much as Soren had had dealings with the shems before, he’s always been devoted to the clan.

“I’m sorry, vhenan. I really am. I just feel … I feel like I can do more good here than I can back home. I would miss you terribly, but if you want to travel back to the clan, I won’t stand in your way.”

Soren drops to the ground, and Gethriel finds himself - once again - admiring his unconscious and youthful grace. At 35, he’s older than Soren, but Soren had not let that stand in his way when he set his eyes - and his heart - on Gethriel. 

“No. My place is with you - here.”

“Good, that’s - good. Do you want to add anything to this letter I’m sending back to the Keeper?”

“No - I. No.”

“Soren. Soren - look at me. We will go back to the clan. It just doesn’t feel right yet. I feel like I would be turning my back on people who need our help right now.”

Soren puffs out a breath and screws up his nose, and Gethriel falls in love a little bit all over again.

“I hate it when you’re right. One of the captains was putting together teams of hunters - archers and the like - to go out into the mountains. I’m going to go and see if they can use my help.”

Soren stands up, then bends over and kisses Gethriel quickly on the lips. “Don’t mind me. I’m just - a little homesick, I suppose.”

Gethriel kisses him back, more thoroughly, which leaves Soren blushing slightly. “I am too, vhenan. Be careful in the mountains.”

 

9:41 Dragon

Keeper

I have decided to stay at Haven for now. The shems have initiated an Inquisition - an order formed apparently to answer to the chaos of the mage-templar conflict. 

I believe I can do some good here, and Soren and I have fallen in with a mercenary band, run by a Qunari woman. 

Reading back, that sounds … much worse than it is. Saya was one of the first people to welcome us here, and her and her group - a diverse bunch consisting of a snarly shem boy, a couple of city elves and a former Dwarven member of the Carta - offered us their fire without knowing us at all.

I do not know when we will be back - Soren is staying with me, though I did offer him the option of returning to the clan.

I will keep you informed, when I can, of what we are doing.

Dar’eth Shiral

Gethriel

 

Codex entry 3

9.41 Dragon - the Inquisition itself

On paper, it seemed like an insurmountable task. Form an organisation to answer the mage-templar conflict, bring peace to the more affected regions of Thedas, offer diplomatic and practical aid to anyone who needed it. 

However, Inquisitor Pentaghast and her advisors threw themselves into the challenge, and their hard work, leadership and integrity led the Inquisition to great heights.

The mage-templar conflict, however, was not the only problem that the burgeoning organisation faced. After the Divine travelled back to Val Royeaux, rumours surfaced of a Tevinter group operating in Ferelden and Orlais. 

Calling themselves the “Venatori”, they gave the new Inquisition and its leaders yet another thing to worry about. 

Little was known about the group at the inception of the Inquisition, although they harried and harrassed the organisation as much as possible. 

Inquisitor Pentaghast moved swiftly against the cult, but it proved to be far more tenacious than anyone could have anticipated.

Excerpt from Considering the Inquisition by Professor Jade Le Breton of the University of Orlais

 

Saya strides through the tent city to her own group, glancing around out of habit. She sees another Qunari, a big bloke, who’s gesturing widely to a small group surrounding him. They look as diverse as her own, and on impulse she changes course and heads for him.

He watches her approach and grins, gesturing her forward.

“Hey! Never thought I’d see another Qunari here! Come on in! I’m The Iron Bull, and these miscreants are my Chargers.”

Saya grins as she stops in front of him. She’s tall, even for a Qunari, but Bull tops her by about half a head. 

“Saya Adaar.” She bows slightly and grins.

“Oh …. Valo-Kas, right? You’ve outbid us on a couple of jobs. You do good work! Sit! Share the fire.”

Saya sits down on a log that’s been dragged in to the Chargers’ small camp and accepts a steaming cup from one of the Chargers.

“Krem,” he says, pointing at himself. “You’ve met the Chief, and there’s Rocky, Dalish, Skinner, Grim and Stitches.”

Saya nods at each in turn, immediately forgetting their names. What’s in her cup is a herbal tea, that tastes sweet and a little earthy.

Bull sits down across from her, and studies her. He’s got an eyepatch, and she can just about count all the scars across his arms and chest.

 

“So - I’ve been meaning to come over, say hi,” Bull says. “I’m guessing, since you’re still here, that you’re planning on staying for a bit?”

“With the Inquisition? Yeah. Might as well, you know? Should pick up some good jobs, hopefully.”

Bull grunts at that and nods.

“So - you said you’d been meaning to say hi?”

“Oh - yeah. Was thinking - maybe we could join forces. Share jobs, news, all that kind of thing you know? You should know - before you say anything - I’m Ben-Hassrath. Ended up at the Conclave after doing a job nearby. Thought we might as well check it out.”

Saya nods at that, not surprised. 

“I need to talk to the others, but it sounds good to me. Share jobs, split the profits?”

“That’s the idea,” Bull says, standing up and holding out his hand. Saya gives her cup to Krem, stands up and grips Bull’s hand.

“Done. Come share our fire sometime. Get to know my people. I better get back. Talk to you soon, Bull.”

9.41 Dragon

Da’len

It was good to hear from you, and I hope that you and Soren are both well. 

I would, of course, prefer if you both came back to the clan, but I know you too well, da’len. You are doing what you believe to be the right thing, and I have never been able to stand in your way. 

I will miss the wisdom of my First, however. I have promoted Ellana in the meantime, and I know that you will understand my decision. We do not know how long you will both be gone for, and the clan needs a competent First.

Dar’eth Shiral

Keeper Lavellan

Soren reads the short missive from the Keeper, draped over Gethriel’s shoulders. “Ellana is a good choice for First,” he says as Gethriel folds the parchment. He nods in agreement. “I thought she should have been promoted to First over me, to be honest. She’ll do the clan proud.”

 

9.42 Dragon

He wakes slowly from uthenera. He lies still as awareness returns to his limbs. He had expected waking from such a long slumber to be painful, but it is … almost pleasant in a way. As his awareness returns, he methodically stretches his arms and his legs, taking in deep breaths and revelling in the feeling of his heart beating under his skin.

Solas sits up and looks around the chamber he had prepared before entering his long sleep. It looks much the same as it had when he lay down - preserved carefully with magic and wards. 

He rises carefully, conscious of a weakness in his arms and legs. He walks slowly around the room he is in until he is sure that his body will respond to his commands.

Taking a deep breath - revelling in the feeling of air rushing in and out of his lungs - Solas turns his attention to a chest at the base of the cot he has been sleeping on.

“So many years … so long …” he’s hardly aware of speaking out loud as he approaches it. All of his plans are so close - right at the tips of his fingers. It feels … momentous and mundane at the same time. 

“Opening a chest,” he murmurs as he works the spell to open the lock, “and changing the world.”


End file.
